


Loose Feathers

by Milo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Character, Deliberate Badfic, Disabled Character, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Parody, Silly Situations, Some NSFW Stuff in 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 19,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4679174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots and drabbles from my Tumblr. Most, if not all, of them are centered around the Donquixote brothers with a generous helping of Crocodile wedged in there. Some drabbles are sillier and some are more serious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The World's Greatest Sandwich

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Отвратительные гости](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021979) by [Mey_Chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mey_Chan/pseuds/Mey_Chan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life (and Doflamingo) is stressful. Crocodile just wants his sandwich.

Fewer things were greater in the world than a perfect sandwich. And the moment that accompanied said perfect sandwich was one of the few quiet, stress-free moments in Sir Crocodile’s life. Being evil and plotting all day and night wasn’t exactly hard, but it sure did get exhausting being surrounded by idiots.

It was a labor of love, though. Eventually the sandbox that was Alabasta would be the greatest place ever. And he’d get to shove that king and his perfect hair into the sand, too. Also, there would be bananadiles. Many, many bananadiles.

But first things first: sandwich.

Sir Crocodile made his way to his room, where he had specifically requested his lunch be taken so he could enjoy it in peace and quiet without dealing with anyone else. Because everyone knew better than to bother him when he went in there.

Or, at least, most people did. There was one exception that he usually managed to avoid. However, this wasn’t the case today.

There was the bane of his existence, the king of Dressrosa himself, sitting cross-legged on his nice table. Doflamingo’s disgusting,  _filthy_  shoes were on Crocodile’s once  _spotless_  table. Crocodile’s sandwich–his perfect sandwich–was in Doflamingo’s over-sized hands.

He couldn’t conceal his disgusted face.

“Hey! I was going to eat that!”

Doflamingo paused in his obnoxiously loud chewing to give an (awkward looking, but friendly) smile and a half wave. “Hey, no worries, babe,” he said. “I saved you half.”

He offered Crocodile what was left of the once beautiful sandwich–which was now half eaten with visible bite marks and…was that a pink feather sticking out of one end? That was definitely a pink feather.

“Not that you’d want it,” he continued. “Trust me. The bread’s kinda crusty, the meat’s not that tasty, and who even  _made_  these sauces? Not to mention–Croc-man, this thing is full of sand.”

The one positive thing about his day was utterly ruined. Crocodile fought the urge to rip that stupid smile off of Doflamingo’s face. No. It wouldn’t do to have them fighting. Not yet. He’d have his chance some other time.

“I locked the windows  _specifically_  so you couldn’t get in here,” Crocodile said. 

“Oh yeah–About that.”

Doflamingo pointed to the window. The glass was shattered and spread across the floor, the frame was destroyed beyond repair. The special locks were still intact. Doflamingo had not bothered trying to mess with it. He just threw his weight around and forced himself through in the true Doflamingo way. Crocodile shook his head in disbelief.

“Why. Just…why,” he said.

“You know, I’m all for clever puns,” Doflamingo began, “but when there’s sand in a sand _wich_  it’s kind of troubling. We ought to hook up sometime, get some actual  _good_  food.”

“ ** _Out_**.”


	2. Feather Coat VS Fur Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante convinces Crocodile to try out a new look.

It was just an offhanded comment. Nothing particularly important, something Crocodile would, and had, forgotten about later. But Rocinante had remembered it. And now here he was, holding his heavy fur coat hostage and trying to convince him to wear his damn feather coat.

At first he had been caught by surprise, which rarely happened, when Rocinante had draped the over-sized black feather coat over his shoulders while Crocodile was working. He’d pushed it away immediately, much to Rocinante’s dismay, and it fell on the floor.

“ _No_ ,” Crocodile said.

“I thought you were interested in feather coats,” Rocinante said.

“I said that I  _liked_  it, not that I wanted to wear it myself,” Crocodile said.

“Really? You’re not even curious about it?” Rocinante said, hanging Crocodile’s heavy coat over his shoulders. He stumbled a bit, but managed to right himself before he could fall over on his face. Crocodile sighed.

“Take that off before you hurt yourself, you damned fool.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself.” Rocinante said. “It’s heavier than what I’m used to. That’s all.” 

“Hmph. Well if you must parade around in it, then you’d better not damage it.”

Crocodile went back to ignoring Rocinante’s strange antics, pretending that he didn’t see him making faces in the mirror on the wall, imitating him. He couldn’t put it on completely–the arms were too short and the width was too small for Rocinante’s torso.

Not that he should have even tried if it did. The fur coat hanging over his shoulders clearly didn’t suit him at all. Especially considering that the colors of Rocinante’s outfit clashed with the green of the coat. And that  _hat_ –

That godforsaken hat ruined it completely.

“I always thought this coat was an odd choice to wear in a desert region like Alabasta,” Rocinante said. “But I can see now why you like it so much. It certainly has the right aura around it, doesn’t it? And the material is very high grade…”

Crocodile hummed, pretending to be focused on the small stack of papers on his desk and altogether disinterested in the shenanigans. He eyed the feather coat laying beside him. In all honesty, he  _was_  a bit curious about it. The look was appealing, at least, when he saw it on others. Crocodile wouldn’t want to be seen in public with the damn thing, though.

With a huff, he picked up the coat and gave it a light shake to fluff the feathers back out. The inner lining was smooth and silky–was it actual silk? Crocodile couldn’t tell. He vaguely wondered which brother had started the unusual fashion choice. Doflamingo certainly seemed to be the type to spare no expense on his clothing.

Perhaps, just this once–

Rocinante was staring at him. He could feel it. Crocodile turned to look, finding him with a rather hopeful gleam in his eye. He looked down at the coat, and then at Crocodile. 

“Once, and  _only_  once,” Crocodile said.

With that, he pulled the coat around his shoulders. For a long, agonizing minute Crocodile just stood there wearing the ridiculous feather coat with the grumpiest face he could manage. The proportions were all wrong, the bottom of the coat was too close to the floor, the arms extended long past his hands.

“I look like a clown.”

Rocinante put a hand to his chin, looking over Crocodile carefully. “The orange and black looks good together…but the style really doesn’t suit you at all, does it?” he said.

The coat smelled like stale cigarette smoke but even more powerful was the smell of Rocinante’s favorite cologne, no doubt to mask the smell of ashes from the several hundred times Rocinante burned the coat.

It was soft, though, and also very lightweight. Easy to maneuver in. But definitely not his style.

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Crocodile said. 

Rocinante chuckled.

“I promise not to tell anyone.” he said.


	3. Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doflamingo wants to see Crocodile, even if Crocodile can't stand him.
> 
> (Just an FYI--this is set in [ThisIsVenereVeritas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas)' Blind!Doflamingo AU)

There was something decidedly unique about Sir Crocodile’s presence in any room. Doflamingo loved every occasion he got to spend in it. 

Crocodile was strong cigar smoke and slow, heavy footfalls. He was an exotic smelling cologne and the sound of booming laughter, ridiculing anyone who dared go against him. Doflamingo had tugged on the shapeless masses of Crocodile’s many coats with string, discovered his large, threatening hook. But there was only so much that Doflamingo could acquire from strings alone. He always found himself craving more. 

Which is why he ended up visiting the man so much at his little casino project in Alabasta. As to be expected, Crocodile sent him away the first three times it happened, and ignored him the next four. This time–oh, this time would be different. Doflamingo had a plan.

After lounging for a time on Crocodile’s couch, he caught Crocodile’s work desk with his strings, pinpointing its location in the room. Just to the left. He knew from previous visits that it was exactly thirty steps from the window.

“Crocodile.”

Papers shuffled. A chair creaked. He had been ignoring Doflamingo’s presence in the room up until now. And him sitting so still, so quietly, was beginning to bother Doflamingo.

“This is the seventh time in the past few months you’ve chosen to waste my precious time, Doflamingo,” Crocodile said. “What do you want  _now_?”

“Can I feel your face?”

A pause.

“…You want to do  _what_?”

Doflamingo shifted his weight between his feet. “We’ve known each other for a long time, haven’t we?” he said. “It’s only fair I get to see what you look like.” He paused. “It’s not a big deal, I do this a lot.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. With each member of the Donquixote family, Doflamingo had asked to feel their faces. But it wasn’t something he did on a whim. He wasn’t too interested in touching any of the other Shichibukai. It was something he only would do with very special people.

And Crocodile happened to fit into that category, whether he liked it or not.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Crocodile said. “I can hardly stand being in the same room with you, let alone you  _touching_  me.”

Oh, that stung. Doflamingo’s face twitched into a smile. 

“Hey, what if I cut you a deal?” he said. “I get to feel your face, then I cut down my Alabasta visits. Or, maybe, I won’t come to this sandbox at all!”

Silence. A painfully long silence. 

Doflamingo caught Crocodile’s clock ticking on the opposite wall. Seconds felt almost like hours. Then, Doflamingo detected the sound of the chair creaking, something being ground–was he putting out his cigar?

“On the condition that you leave, and preferably never come back here, then just once. And  _only_  once.”

That was all the permission Doflamingo needed. He walked around the desk carefully, minding the sharp edges, and–after finding out exactly where Crocodile was with the aid of the string–tried to look where he thought Crocodile’s face might be.

Hesitantly, Doflamingo reached forward with both hands until he touched the sides of Crocodile’s head, the tips of his fingers meeting the shell of his ears. He felt Crocodile tense under his touch–probably reflexively. Doflamingo didn’t imagine Crocodile as the type of person to have others touching him so intimately like this all too often.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not gonna do anything weird.”

Crocodile huffed. “Coming from you, that’s hilarious.”

Doflamingo traced the shape of Crocodile’s ears lightly with his thumbs, taking in each curve and bend, each rise and fall. His long fingers trailed in the hair hanging behind them–Crocodile took very good care of his hair. It was soft and smooth. Doflamingo found himself wanting to caress it–No, he’d promised the face only. It wouldn’t do to have Crocodile angry at him.

He moved from the ears down to the jaw–Crocodile certainly had a very pronounced jaw. He massaged it lightly. The skin prickled under his touch. 

“Seems like you’re in need of a shave, Croco-man.”

“Stop stalling.”

“Hey, hey, easy there,” Doflamingo said. “I’m going, I’m going. These things take time, you know.”

Crocodile let out an irritated sigh but did not push Doflamingo away, and so Doflamingo continued. He moved up his face, catching Crocodile’s lips set in a scowl. He wasn’t enjoying this. Doflamingo didn’t expect him to, really. But it still came with the pang of hurt.

Deep down, he did want Crocodile to like him.

When he came to Crocodile’s cheekbones, he paused for a long moment to rub the spot. There was a scar there. 

As he followed it, he realized it stretched down to his ear. His fingers traced it over his nose and across the other side of his face. It was thick, sloppy, and uneven. Doflamingo could only wonder what might have caused it. He knew Crocodile wouldn’t tell him–Crocodile  _hated_  answering personal questions. So he continued on.

Crocodile’s nose was large and pointed. Doflamingo felt it wrinkle under his touch as if Crocodile was reacting to a foul odor.

And then there was his brow. It was furrowed, and Doflamingo took a moment to feel each and every crease in it, to note his thin eyebrows, to rub where his nose and forehead connected. He couldn’t control his smile.  

Crocodile was  _perfect_.

For a moment he simply rested his hands flat on Crocodile’s face, taking in all the features at once, caressing him lightly, trying to create a solid image in his mind. Somehow, Crocodile was even better than he ever could have imagined. He wanted to compliment Crocodile on how handsome he was. Crocodile would like that.

And then the entire shape of his face became fluid, and Crocodile’s features slipped through his fingers. He frowned for a brief moment before he let out a laugh and his trademark grin reappeared.

“ _Enough_ , Doflamingo,” Crocodile said. Doflamingo heard his chair slide back across the tile floor. “Take your leave.”

Doflamingo laughed. “So soon?”

“That was the deal, was it not?” Crocodile said. “Besides, I need to go clean my face off. Who knows where those hands of yours have been.”

Doflamingo didn’t say anything. But he did walk exactly thirty steps to where he knew the window was.


	4. Raw Vegetables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante can't cook, but Robin knows what to do.
> 
> [Woooo Rocibin! I am the only person on this ship. Whatever. This piece happens to be set in a modern AU and also features a headcanon that Rocinante's clumsiness is actually caused by cerebellar damage rather than him simply being overly clumsy.]

“ _Argh_!”

Was the sound of Rocinante slicing himself with the knife he was using to cut carrots with. He shook the hand and gently sucked on the finger. It was a shallow cut, but it still stung and it still bled.

One of Robin’s old, worn out cookbooks was on Rocinante’s counter, two cardboard cereal boxes keeping it propped up. He didn’t own any himself, as he never really needed them. He ate out more than in. A bit costly on his part. He wanted to change that.

Rocinante wasn’t very good at cooking. Everything always seemed to burn when he cooked it, no matter how careful he was. But he did want to learn. Even if it took forever, he’d like to feel a little more self-sufficient. Which was how Robin ended up visiting in the small time windows when they were both off from work.

“Do you need help?” came Robin’s voice from behind him.

“I’m…I’m alright,” he said. “Just cut myself again.”

“Again?” Robin asked, appearing beside him. She gently tugged his arm down to eye level to see the damage. “…I suppose it’s a good thing I didn’t put away the bandages yet, hm?”

He looked at his other fingers, which had two additional cuts and two Hello Kitty bandages covering them. Robin pulled out a third bandage from the little paper box and ointment to clean the cut. Rocinante looked at her for a moment before smiling awkwardly as she took the initiative to do it for him, whether he liked it or not. 

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the second cutting board, the one Robin had been using. Everything was diced so neatly–Robin was so much better at this than him. She moved so quickly, knew each step by heart, while here he was stumbling over himself. He rubbed his face with his free hand.

Robin’s idea of a simple recipe was only simple in  _her_  mind. Vegetables meant cutting things. With a knife.

With such poor motor controls, there was a time when so much as being able to cut his own food was a problem. An embarrassing problem, but something he had to overcome. But the hands tremoring never really seemed to stop. Especially not after he picked up chain smoking.

“I certainly do cause a lot of trouble, don’t I?” he said.

Robin looked at him for a moment, face expressionless. She dabbed away the blood oozing out of his finger with a damp paper towel. “It’s not as though you can help it,” she said as she wrapped the tiny bandage around his finger. “There we are. Good as new.”

Rocinante flexed his fingers. The cut still ached, though it had dulled. He glanced back at the knife and the sloppily, uneven cut carrots in front of him.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Rocinante said. 

“You told me you wanted to learn,” Robin said. “I think you’re making great progress so far.”

“I can’t hold bowls,” he said. “I burn myself on the stove. I can’t mix things without spilling them all over the floor.” He picked up the knife and turned it around in his fingers with a sigh. “I can’t even hold this knife steady.”

Robin put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” she said. “I’m with you, okay? Always. You take as long as you need.” 

Rocinante stared at the knife. His hand began shaking as he held it. 

“I don’t know if I–”

He felt Robin slide up behind him. She steadied his arm with a firm grip, and then leveled it and the knife with the table. The tremoring stopped altogether. He looked at her. She smiled at him.

“Try again now,” she said.


	5. A Quiet Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante just wants to be more affectionate. Is that so much to ask for?

Rocinante relished the moments when Crocodile let him show small gestures of affection, curl up beside him in bed, hold his arm; but there was still the sincere craving for something more. It was an itch just begging to be scratched. He knew Crocodile wouldn’t allow such a thing, however. He never was the type.

Which was why when Crocodile allowed Rocinante to, for lack of a better word, pet him, it caught Rocinante by surprise.

They had both been side-by-side on the couch when Crocodile decided that his couch was now his and his alone once again, and took to laying over Rocinante to read his paper. He stretched out and crossed his legs at the shin. Maybe it was a test to see if Rocinante would submit to being laid upon.

If so, he passed it with flying colors. Rocinante moved not an inch, nor did he complain when his legs inevitably fell asleep. Crocodile said nothing. The only sound in the room was the paper rustling.

But then Rocinante noticed that a strand of hair was pulled out of place, dangling down the front of Crocodile’s face. Without thinking he gently brushed it back. Crocodile paused in reading. Rocinante stiffened. He tried to make eye contact. Crocodile wasn’t looking at him. The handmade cigar in Crocodile’s mouth switched sides. He said nothing, did nothing about it.

Was that a good sign? Rocinante was going to assume it was.

Gently, he reached down and stroked the right side of Crocodile’s hair, running his fingers through it. Did Crocodile not mind? He looked indifferent as always. Rocinante wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth. He continued to run his fingers through the other man’s hair, slowly, carefully, being mindful not to pull any of it. Crocodile’s hair was soft, smooth, and very carefully cared for. Not that any of this was a surprise, the man had enough money to afford enough hair care products to supply him for a lifetime. Rocinante loved the fact that it was so soft.

It was one of a handful of things that he genuinely liked about Crocodile.

Sometimes Rocinante genuinely wondered why it was that he subjected himself to Crocodile; the man was cruel, selfish, and cared little for even those he considered close. He wondered if the same spark of adoration that Doflamingo had for the man was predestined to flare up in himself. That there was something in the Donquixote line drew them to such a powerful, unforgiving man.

In the deep, dark recesses of his mind he had hope that, perhaps, Crocodile wasn’t the cruel, selfish man that he knew him to be. It was this hope that drove him to stay, he thought. Even though Rocinante was a hopeless klutz and usually tripped over his rug, his bananadiles, broke things, and even bumped into him, he didn’t really find it funny. Crocodile did seem to enjoy his presence. There had to be some good in the man.

He’d be lying if he said Crocodile was his type. But Crocodile was attractive.

“Why did you stop?”

Rocinante looked at him. Crocodile was staring at him. Lost in his own thoughts, he’d stopped his slow massage of Crocodile’s scalp.

“Did you want me to continue?” Rocinante asked.

A shrug.

“I never told you to stop.”

Rocinante smiled a small smile when Crocodile looked back at the newspaper in his hands, clearly trying to pass off…whatever was happening as though he didn’t care. Then, Rocinante went back to dragging his fingers through his hair with the same slow movements as before.

“You have really nice hair,” Rocinante said.

“I know.”


	6. Let Bananadiles Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante tries befriending Crocodile's pets.

Crocodile had never struck Rocinante as the animal loving type. Or even the animal tolerating type. So there was something curious about how Crocodile kept so many large, ferocious bananadiles on hand. It was one thing to keep the animals in the water outside or keep them as display and pay them no mind whatsoever, but the large, lumbering beasts walked through the lower floors of the building, following their master loyally with a surprising speed as he came and went.

But what struck him most of all wasn’t the large, intimidating bananadiles, but the young ones not even a tenth the size of the adults. The young ones who had not picked up on their master’s distaste for irritating little pests, who snapped at his coat and climbed over his feet. The young ones who Rocinante would sometimes catch Crocodile holding delicately while he stroked them along their underbelly.

Perhaps it was this that motivated him to properly introduce himself to the animals. Not that they seemed entirely interested in him. The ignored him in favor of Crocodile when he was in the room, and cast him strange looks when he was alone with them.

Rocinante decided to start with the large bananadile that was usually present in the front room. When he found it, it was resting on the floor near the window, legs kicked back and eyes shut. It seemed almost peaceful, like an old, over-sized dog.

It probably wouldn’t mind too much it he pat it on the back, right? He’d seen Crocodile stroke it on the nose with no adverse effects.

He approached it slowly, casually. The bananadile didn’t initially react to him, not even when he got within an arm’s reach. But it did react when Rocinante tripped over an uneven part of the rug and fell over, bumping into it. The bananadile whipped its head around to snap at him, only barely missing him, giving Rocinante enough time to scurry away.

It growled, then settled back down where it had been laying, shut its eyes, and went still. Rocinante decided to try again. This time avoiding the rug, he walked around slowly and quietly toward the tail end of the animal this time. Far away from the mouth, yes, that would be the best plan of action.

But the moment he touched it, it lashed out, turning around to face him with its jaws wide open. It hissed at him. Rocinante held up his hands to it, but the animal didn’t look any less agitated.

A moment later, it was chasing him as he stumbled across the room and scrambled to find a space too narrow for it to follow, which he found in the form of a closet. It took nearly half an hour for the animal to give up scratching at the door and for Crocodile to stop laughing at him when he happened to return to the room for something.

Rocinante decided to spend the rest of the day sulking on the couch, staring at the baby versions of the ferocious beast that had tried to eat him whole. Crocodile sat near him in his large, extravagant armchair. He seemed to be in a better mood than usual.

“They don’t like me,” Rocinante said.

“No,” Crocodile said, scratching under the chin of an especially wiggly bananadile, “they don’t. That you would even try to touch them surprises me.”

Rocinante said nothing, opting instead to play with one of the heart-shaped tassels on his hat. The pile of bananadiles on the carpet in front of the sofa walked over each other, playfully snapping at each other’s tiny stubby legs and long fat tails. They seemed harmless but they still had mouths full of those sharp teeth.

“You were walking a fine line between stubbornness and stupidity, Rocinante,” Crocodile said. “They eat almost anything that moves, but more specifically the weak.”

A bananadile crawled over to his feet. Rocinante stared at it. It stared up at Crocodile, eyeing him innocently. He picked it up and gently placed it over his lap.

Rocinante glanced at him. Crocodile wasn’t looking at him, too preoccupied with the animals he held. The smaller of the two animals gnawed at the metal hook replacing his left hand while the larger one slowly tried to climb his shirt. His expression displayed no kindness, nor did he seem terribly concerned about whether or not Rocinante had a good relationship with his pets.

“These smaller ones don’t seem to respect anyone,” Rocinante said.

Crocodile hummed. “They have yet to learn their place,” he said. “In time that will change.”

When one of the smaller babies waddled near him, Rocinante found himself reaching for it. It squeaked in surprise and wriggled about in his grip, snapping its jaws, but couldn’t do a thing to him. He wondered if he should have started with the smaller ones to begin with.

Its back was uneven and bumpy, hard, but still had that soft newness that all baby animals seemed to have. It was squishy, just a little bit too fat, perhaps overfed on purpose. Compared to the adults it almost seemed silly. It was definitely interested in eating his fingers, though, that much he could tell.

“I can see why you like them,” he said. “Even when they’re little, they’re still dangerous. Unpredictable.”

“Which is why, if you value your life, you’ll avoid any direct confrontation with them,” Crocodile said.

“You’ve trained them to follow your orders, haven’t you?” Rocinante said. “I just have to show them that I’m not weak, right? That I’m not afraid of them?”

Crocodile let out a short laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Crocodile was insulting him. But Rocinante decided to ignore it and accept the challenge of gaining the animals’ respect. Sure, he was leagues away from Crocodile in terms of raw power, but he was determined.

The bananadiles’ behavior toward Rocinante did change in time, that is, after the first dozen attempts at befriending them. Instead of acting hostile, they seemed to notice him. Occasionally they would rest behind him if Rocinante happened to be reading in the same room. And, from time to time, the smaller ones would lay near him on the couch. The one in the main room ceased trying to eat him. Even when Crocodile wasn’t around.

There was still the impulse to pet them, though. And no matter how many bitten fingers he got, no matter how many close calls he had with the adults, Rocinante never really learned his lesson.

Only that it was a better idea to try petting them when they were asleep.


	7. Brave Soldier Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a space where Rocinante used to be.

Someone else needed to use the office and the old commander’s things needed to be removed to make way for the new. Sengoku had been prompted to clean it out days ago. He had been putting it off for some time now, but it nagged him in the back of his mind day in and day out. Finally he forced himself to do it.

He’d made his way down that particular path hundreds of times and knew it so well that he almost didn’t have to think to walk to it. But when he stopped at the familiar door, he noticed that the nameplate had been removed. Only a little off-color rectangle remained. He opened the door slowly.

The room was fairly neat and tidy, exactly how Rocinante had left it when he was sent away. The spider plant in the corner of the room still held strong despite having been neglected lately; that was Sengoku’s fault. He had told Rocinante that he would take good care of it. But he’d forgotten it. Out of sight, out of mind, he mused. He’d move the plant to another location.

The desk was situated in the center of the room and the chair still had an officer’s jacket draped over the back.

Some papers filled the desk’s top drawer; it was paperwork that Rocinante had forgotten to fill out some odd years ago. He’d reminded him several times, but Rocinante had set them aside and forgotten them anyway. He filled out new paperwork later. Sengoku took the old sheets out and tapped them on the desk, putting them together in a neat pile.

In the middle drawer were several packs of cigarettes. They were old now, but two were still neatly sealed up. The third was missing two cigarettes, with another sticking out of it. Some miscellaneous files filled up the drawer; pirates and marines alike.

He rummaged around in the drawer as he cleared it of its contents and found dried, crusty shreds of lettuce leaves. He could imagine Rocinante with an entire salad bowl, enough for three people, sat at his desk while he read through reports, lettuce going everywhere as he practically inhaled the contents. Sengoku had caught Rocinante with lettuce on his face once. He’d gone through an entire part of the day without noticing it. When he’d pointed it out, Rocinante had laughed a quiet, embarrassed laugh at himself. Sengoku found himself chuckling even now.

In the bottom drawer, there was a hat.

It was a floppy red hat with long strings ending in heart-shaped tassels. Rocinante’s favorite hat. The fabric was so soft to the touch. He wore it all the time when he was allowed to be casual. Sengoku knew that Rocinante loved his hat to bits and pieces. He would twirl his fingers in the tassels while he read or while he ate, and other marines would yank on them from time to time. Sengoku was guilty of that himself.

Sengoku held the hat in his hand daintily. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled.

It was three months ago that Sengoku had received the call.

It still felt like a dream. There was still the lingering thought that Rocinante had simply gone out for a walk and would be back anytime now, that he was still on his mission, only just out of his sight. Rocinante was so quiet, so very quiet that perhaps he would sneak up on Sengoku again like he used to do when he was still a little boy.

For a moment Sengoku gazed at the door. It was closed. But he imagined the doorknob turning and Rocinante stumbling into his office with some complaint about a new recruit, a freshly lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and someone’s file in his hand. Rocinante would have looked at him in shock for picking through his personal effects.

Sengoku moved to put the hat back, but stopped himself. Slowly, he pulled the hat closer to himself.

Rocinante wouldn’t be coming back for it.

He was the one who had to bury Rocinante’s remains after he fought to keep him from being tagged and bagged and tossed into the ocean with the other dead pirate bodies they’d found on Minion Island. He’d carried that bloody body riddled with gunshot wounds and stared at Rocinante’s lifeless face. The facepaint had smeared down his cheeks and mixed with the now dried blood. He was smiling even in death, as if he was just complimented on a job well done.

Sengoku settled down in Rocinante’s old chair with the hat in his hand. He stared at it and clenched it in his fist.

Rocinante died a filthy pirate, and nobody knew any better.


	8. Snowball Effect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doflamingo starts a fight.

Winter Islands were terrible. No exceptions.

Crocodile hated the cold and detested the snow that never seemed to stop falling. It got in his hair and all over his coat to the point where he constantly had to shake it off to prevent it from melting on him. The moment he was finished, he would be on the boat back to Alabasta. 

He trudged through the snow, cursing the village for not having properly cleared their own damn pathways. His shoes were wet and feet were becoming numb. Whose decision was it to meet in this desolate wasteland? What a pain in the ass. Never again.

Then, a snowball flew at Crocodile. 

It went through him and landed exactly two feet away. He raised an eyebrow at it. Turning around, he caught the sight of Doflamingo standing in the snow, staring at him with a wide smile.

It was interesting to see him so far from home, and in a cold place at that, but somehow it wasn’t a surprise at all.

“Why,” was all Crocodile said to him.

“Nice to see you too, you crusty old lizard,” Doflamingo said.

“What are you doing here?” Crocodile asked. “God knows you’ve stated your hatred for snow many times.”

“Fufufu--Aww, Croco, you remembered!” Doflamingo said. “I had to take care of a little something-something in person and I was actually just on my way out. But then heard that someone with a nasty scar was skulking around. Thought I’d drop in and catch up on old times.”

“By throwing snowballs at me,” Crocodile said, deadpan.

“Fufufufu! I may dislike winter islands but they certainly do have their perks.”

Doflamingo bent over and picked up a sizable chunk of snow in his hands. He shaped it carefully into a round ball. Crocodile’s eyes narrowed and he gave Doflamingo a warning look. But Doflamingo tossed it at him anyway. It passed through Crocodile’s shoulder and landed behind him.

“Stop doing that,” Crocodile said.

“Come on, Croc,” Doflamingo said, kneeling down to gather up more snow. “Surely even  _you_  can have a little fun once in awhile.”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun, Doflamingo,” Crocodile said. “I don’t have time to play with you today. Find someone else to entertain yourself with.”

With that, Crocodile turned away and began to walk briskly through the snow. Another small snowball went through his back. Then another, and another. He took a drag of his cigar and decided to ignore Doflamingo completely. Reacting to him would only serve to further egg him on.

When he got far enough away, the snowballs stopped coming. Crocodile stopped walking. He turned around once more. Doflamingo was gone, only a few footprints marking where he had been standing. Crocodile snorted--Really, had he given up so easily?

Then snow poured down from above.

Crocodile let out a yell when he was covered in layer upon layer of snow. It covered his coat and his hair and even snuck into his shirt. He shuddered, gritting his teeth. He quickly brushed as much as he could off of himself before it could soak into his clothes and leave him soaking wet.

Laughter came from above. When he looked up, Crocodile caught the sight of Doflamingo sitting in the huge pine tree above him.

“Fufufufu! It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re trying to have a conversation with you, Croco-man,” Doflamingo said.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Crocodile snapped. “Do you  _want_  me to kill you?”

Doflamingo jumped down from the tree and landed in the snow. Crocodile watched him carefully, fully ready to deflect any more snow that he planned to throw. But Doflamingo simply watched him with a smile. He tugged at his feather coat--his nice, warm, not wet feather coat, and laughed.

“Look at you, all wet and cold...” he said. “Does the snow make old man Croco angry? Are you going to do something about it?”

Crocodile opened his mouth to say something, but Doflamingo tossed another snowball. It hit Crocodile square in the face, and suddenly he realized that he couldn’t avoid them through turning to sand anymore. He wiped the snow off of his face and glared menacingly at Doflamingo.

“Oh, that is  _it_.”

* * *

 

Some ten minutes later, the resident islanders all had to stop whatever they were doing when they noticed the two forty-something year old men, one yelling angrily and the other laughing his head off, stumbling and chasing each other around all the while pelting snow in every direction.


	9. Unsightly Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doflamingo really needs to stop leaving dead bodies in Vergo's kitchen.

There was a man on the floor laying in a heap, face twisted and eyes bulging in a frozen look of eternal horrified shock. Blood seeped out of the gash down his front and pooled around him, staining the nice white tile on the floor. Vergo had only found him about five minutes ago when he went into the kitchen to start lunch.

Doflamingo was sitting not too far away from the body, his fingers still coated in dry blood. He smiled and waved a little at Vergo, who stared at him, face expressionless.

Vergo approached the body carefully. The man had clearly been dead for a while now. He wasn’t sure exactly how long, but it was probably safe to assume that Doflamingo had murdered him elsewhere hours ago, as per what usually happened, and only just turned up in Vergo’s home for help with disposing of the thing. 

The window behind him was open and there were signs–namely hair and blood streaking the windowsill–that Doflamingo had dragged the body in through there. Oh, god.

“This,” Vergo said, pointing down at the body, “has to stop.”

Doflamingo looked shocked. “He had the nerve to insult my coat, though,” he said. “And–Vergo, you  _know_  how I feel about it when people badmouth my favorite coat.”

Vergo shook his head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said. “You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen.”

“What? It won’t be here for that long,” Doflamingo said. “I’ll get rid of it, I always do!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you leave a mess on the floor every time it happens.” Vergo stepped over the body, careful not to soak his socks with blood, to get closer to Doflamingo. “I don’t mind covering for you, Doffy, but you need to think of a cleaner way to manage this.”

“Hmm…” Doflamingo put a hand to his mouth in contemplation. “See, I  _could_ have put it in the backyard, but I didn’t want the neighbors to see it. The porch was out of the question since the blood would soak the carpet…The garage, maybe?”

The garage was preferable to the kitchen. At least then it was hidden and easier to clean up. It would be hard to explain to everyone why they couldn’t park in the garage anymore, but it was doable.

“Maybe. At least it would be out of the way then,” Vergo said. “…For now, though, I think we should focus on taking this body away and burying it somewhere. That is, before anyone else comes home and sees–”

The front door opened and shut again. There was the distinct sound of high-heeled shoes clacking against hardwood flooring.

“I’m home! Hey, Vergo, have you seen the– _Oh my god!_ ” Baby 5 shrieked. “Is–Is that my ex?!”

She stared, horrified beyond words, at the slowly decaying body on the floor. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a scream. Vergo looked at Doflamingo. Doflamingo looked back at him with the same pleasant smile.

“Really?” Vergo said.


	10. That Damn Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crocodile allows Rocinante to stay with him, but at what cost.

Sir Crocodile met Rocinante for the first time through Doflamingo–who had introduced him as his precious younger brother. Some undetermined amount of time later, Doflamingo pretended that name meant absolutely nothing to him. For a brief period of time, Crocodile pondered why that might be, but Rocinante was reluctant to tell him, and Crocodile was too proud to ask.

Whatever went through his mind when he allowed Rocinante sanctuary at his lavish residence in Alabasta was lost to him now; he couldn’t remember what exactly had driven him to allow such a clumsy, foolish man into his personal space. But Rocinante was here to stay now.

For all that they shared in looks, Rocinante was something completely different from his brother. Crocodile noted that he was stupidly hopeful and at times overly emotional. He lacked the ruthlessness that Doflamingo possessed; had he been left to his own devices, Crocodile was sure that Rocinante would have been broken in Grand Line even quicker than Crocodile himself had been.

But both brothers had fierce determination, though they showed it in different ways.

Rocinante’s smile lacked the double meaning that Doflamingo’s did; it was genuine and kind, and at times ridiculous. Of course, Crocodile usually only saw it second hand, and only whenever Rocinante was with Law, and since the brat had run off to make a name for himself as a pirate Crocodile saw it less and less. What Crocodile valued most of all, however, was how quiet he was.

Now Crocodile could never hope in his wildest dreams to sit in silence in a room with Doflamingo. The man was far too talkative, always had to chatter on uselessly about something or other like someone’s prized parrot. He talked about his family, his ambitions, all that he accomplished. He talked about Dressrosa, and he talked about Crocodile, and he talked about the marines–honestly, getting Doflamingo to stop talking was a miracle in itself.

With Rocinante, Crocodile often would forget he was in the room. He would ask permission to take a seat on one of his couches and proceed to sit for hours in a calm, collected silence. After a while Crocodile would look up from business to see that he was still there, still reading, still saying nothing. Rocinante was practically a ghost.

“Why do you stay here?” Crocodile asked, on no day in particular.

“Why? You know why.” Rocinante perked up, looking at him oddly. Then, he turned thoughtful. “…Though, I suppose I don’t really have a reason why anymore,” he said.

“You could have left when the brat took off, but you didn’t,” Crocodile said.

“I like it here,” Rocinante said. “I don’t mind staying here with you, if you’ll continue having me.” His expression turned to one of surprise. “You’re not bothered by me being here, are you?”

He wasn’t.

“I can think of worse people to play host to,” was what Crocodile chose to answer with.

Rocinante laughed. It was so quiet that had there been any noise in the room, Crocodile would have missed it. “I’m glad,” Rocinante said. “Here I was beginning to think you’d grown bored of me.”

Crocodile snorted. “You’ll know when I’ve grown bored of you,” he said. “I’ll have one less bananadile to feed that day.”

If said to anyone else, the threat would have been taken seriously. But Rocinante simply smiled softly and shook his head. Crocodile had said that threat to him for years now. He returned to the paper he had been reading without another word. Crocodile glanced at him once more before returning to his work.

Crocodile had comrades, had those who seemed to enjoy working with him, and had business partners that he found himself forced to deal with from point a to point b. But Crocodile didn’t have friends. To have friends would insinuate that Crocodile had some interest in seeing these people outside of necessity. That he enjoyed their presence around him for an extended period of time. That he  _trusted_  them. He wasn’t really sure where to put Rocinante. He’d called him a pet before, but that wasn’t really right either. Crocodile didn’t trust Rocinante so much as he understood that the man was no threat to him. The damn idiot set himself on fire, what could he possibly do to Crocodile?

Crocodile had fallen asleep in the same room as him without fearing that there would be a dagger in his side. Rocinante had no interest in his wealth, his land, his ambitions, a job within the ranks of Baroque Works, or…seemingly anything. The fact that Rocinante willingly stayed, even long after he was safe to leave, baffled him.

He ended up sleeping with Rocinante from time to time, and he wasn’t quite sure how that started either. If he was honest with himself, the experience with him wasn’t terrible nor was it noteworthy. But afterwards Rocinante always ran his hands through Crocodile’s hair, or would quietly hum a tune he’d heard in town while Crocodile was washing up.

At first these quirks were nothing but irritating, but eventually they were almost endearing. Granted, he would still tell Rocinante off about cuddling up to him. Rocinante would continue to do so anyway. It was a strange little ritual that they had. Crocodile found himself missing it when he found himself in similar situations.

The paperwork under Crocodile’s hand turned into mindless jargon written in a language he couldn’t understand for a brief moment. He furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at it. Here he was in his office, completely undisturbed, and yet he was distracted yet again.

He focused his attention on the bananadile tank behind him in an attempt to center himself. He steepled his fingers as he watched one of the smaller ones swim past the window, powerful tail undulating behind it for extra propulsion.

A snort came from the couch. He looked back at it. Rocinante had dozed off. His too-tall, lanky form draped over the couch awkwardly and the newspaper, still in his hand, was in a messy heap on the floor. He was snoring quietly. With an annoyed sigh, Crocodile set his pen down and got up from his seat. His footsteps echoed in the room as he walked to the couch. He stopped in front of Rocinante. Rocinante showed no signs of waking up again. He tugged the paper out of his hands with little effort, folded it, and tossed it onto the end table.

In one swift movement, he pulled off his heavy green coat and draped it over Rocinante’s sleeping form. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it, and he had surprised himself by doing it. Crocodile had half a mind to take it back and pretend like he hadn’t just done that. But he left the coat there.

“Damn fool,” he said quietly, and for a moment he wondered if he was really directing the comment at Rocinante.

The muffled sound of a transponder snail call came through the door. Crocodile looked at it. Who wanted his attention this late in the day? Crocodile cast one more glance at Rocinante. Rocinante shifted under the heavy fur coat, sighed, and then smiled a little in his sleep.

That idiotic smile–it made something inside Crocodile stir uncomfortably and he hated it. He shuddered and walked to the door. The image of Rocinante smiling was still lingering in his mind, taunting him.

He needed a drink. Or two. Or twelve.


	11. Imperfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A copy just isn't the same as the original.

Doflamingo sat alone in his room with only his thoughts for company. But his thoughts betrayed him; he could only think about Crocodile.

His hands still tingled at the tips where he had felt the other man’s face. It was both thrilling and agonizing that Crocodile has chosen to play with him like that. Really, had Crocodile expected that he would want any less from him afterwards? He rubbed his fingertips together. No. Now he only wanted him more than ever. It was an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

He splayed out his hands and string shot out from his fingertips. It weaved and shaped and formed, from his memory, what Doflamingo knew of Crocodile until the string clone stood in front of him in incomplete majesty. It said nothing because Doflamingo wanted it to say nothing. Crocodile himself, however, wouldn’t say nothing. He always had something to say.

Doflamingo approached the clone with an arm outstretched. It made contact with clone Crocodile’s face, or at least what Doflamingo remembered of it. The nose, the ears, the cheekbones, that magnificent scar sealing everything together like a tight segment of rope.

But the clone was imperfect; the nose was too big, the eyes were too big, the mouth was too small, and the scar too thick. But, he supposed, that was how he’d thought about Crocodile. The man was two feet shorter than him, yet he was larger than life. He caressed the clone in a way Crocodile would have hated and intertwined his fingers with what few strands of hair he remembered Crocodile having.

He moved his fingers around masterfully to control the string clone. Clone Crocodile put his hook to his neck; that wasn’t right either. Crocodile’s hook was bigger, more intimidating, more awe inspiring.

“Go on,” he said to the clone. “Tell me to stop wasting your precious time. Tell me to fuck off.”

“Fuck off,” the Crocodile clone said, but without any of the usual ferocity and resentment that Crocodile would have said it with. “Stop wasting my precious time, you damn bird.”

Doflamingo’s expression turned sour. The clone unraveled and disappeared in the air. He put a hand to his head and walked twenty steps to where his chair was. He dropped into it, defeated. 


	12. One Piecemortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [A/N: stop flemmin the stroy preps!!!]

Crocodile and I held our pale hands with lots of rings on them as we went upstairs. I was wearing my favorite pink feather coat with lots of eathers on it and pink capris with white stripes and my white button up shirt with flames on it that was halfway open and my favorite pink sunglasses (A/N: u does that sond like a mary su 2 u????). I waved to Vergo. Dark misery was in his dark sunglasses. I guess he was jealous cause I was going out with Corcodile. A lot of marines looked at us. I put up my middle finger at them.

Anyway, I went upstairs with Crocodile. We went into his room and locked the door. Then…

We started Frenching passively and I took off Corkodile’s clothes enthusciastically. He felt my feathers before I took of my coat. I took of his pants and he wanted to take off my sunglasses but he didn’t, you sickos! We went on the bed and making out naked. He put his croc thingy in mine and we HAD SEX (c is dat stoopid?).

“Oh Croco! Croco!” I screamed but then all of a sudden Crocodile had a new tattoo before that I had never seen before. It was an black heart with an arrow threw and in alligatory writing was the words…..Vertigo! I gasped. Then Vergo came.

“Are you okay, Doflamnore?” He put his bamboo hand on mine. He was looking all sexah with his sex pack (geddit?) and had a hamberger all over his face. I could tell that Crockodile thought he was ot too. We went in2 a blac room with lots of cracs on it. (Crocodile was goffik)

“Ya I guess.” I exclaimed. Crocoroci also pot his hand on mine sexily. “But Low showed up in Drassroba and fuckign ruined like everything and stuff. I fucking hate that little bitch.”

“Itz okay, Doflamango.” Crocidile said. 

We frenched sexily. Verizon looked at us longingly.

Then…. I took off Craco Malfoy’s orange waistcoat with black stripes and also seductively took off his green ascot. He was hung lik a stallone. Now the tattoo said “Dooflnamgo” instead of Verde. Black bananadiles were around it. I gasped. He lookd exactly lik Gol D. Roger! Vergo took a vido camera. (i hed said it wuz okay b4)

I took of my clothes and den we were in the Marineford of r lifs!

We started frenching as we walked into the sandbox. Crocoroci put his spock in my you-know-what and passively we did it.

“I love you Dofladile. Let me feel u.” he screamed as we got an orgasm. We wattched Very go film everything perfectdly. Suddenly….

“WHAT TEH FUCK R U DOING!!!!!”

It was……………………….. Low and Sulu!!!

                            


	13. Impatience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doflamingo waits on a very important call.

Doflamingo drummed his fingers on the table and hummed impatiently. He stared down at the little transponder snail in front of him that neither moved nor made any sound. It was hard enough finding a quiet spot away from the family, but he also only had a small window of time. What was keeping him?

Finally, it rang. Doflamingo wasted no time in picking up the receiver.

“ _Doffy?_ ” Came Vergo’s voice through the snail.

Relief washed over him. “Fufufu...I was beginning to think you’d forgotten,” Doflamingo said. Or been discovered, he added silently.

“ _Never_ ,” Vergo said. “ _I’d never forget something this important._ ”

“Tell me everything, Vergo,” Doflamingo said. “Spare no detail.”

As Vergo relayed information, business details ranging from place names, to people and activities, to found secrets, Doflamingo ended up zoning out a bit. He leaned on the desk, the receiver in hand, as he listened to Vergo’s voice. It never mattered what Vergo said to him, anything he said was always nice because it was Vergo talking.

He let out a quiet sigh. When was the last time he’d seen Vergo? Years? He couldn’t even remember. It felt so long ago. The family was all wrong now.

Well, there was nothing wrong with his family, his elite officers, his brother, the children...but something was definitely off without Vergo, something missing. While his brother might have taken up the Heart seat in his place, Vergo left a hole that nobody could really fill. He was something special, something different altogether. Vergo was his closest friend--or no, he wasn’t quite that. Something more than that, perhaps.

Above anyone else, he trusted Vergo the most. It had pained him to send Vergo away, but it made sense to only send the one he trusted most. Even if it meant waking up alone every morning.

“... _Doffy?_ ” Vergo said, bringing Doflamingo back to reality. “ _Are you still there?_ ”

“Yes, of course. I was...thinking,” Doflamingo said. “Keep talking. I like hearing your voice.”

“ _What should I talk about?_ ” Vergo asked.

“Anything.”

Vergo continued on talking, about his schedule and about some of the marines he worked with. He talked about food, and chores, and...boring things, honestly. Doflamingo listened for a while before he frowned. He crossed his legs at the ankle and twirled his finger around the cord. There were a lot of things he wanted to say to Vergo; that he missed him, or that it wasn’t the same without him, or that he wanted Vergo back...but he didn’t say any of it. He didn’t need to. Vergo already knew, didn’t he?

...Didn’t he?

“Vergo?” Doflamingo spoke up, making Vergo pause in his rambling.

“ _Yes?_ ”

Doflamingo was quiet for a moment as he thought of the right thing to say. “The bed’s cold without you,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Vergo said.

“Don’t apologize, it was my decision to send you away,” Doflamingo said. Then, he sighed. “It’s...not the same without my most trusted man. Without you.”

“ _Is everything okay, Doffy?_ ”

“Fufu...of course. Everything’s fine,” Doflamingo said with a grin. “I just miss you, that’s all.”

In the background, Doflamingo heard some kind of commotion, some other marines chatting, perhaps, and he knew that Vergo would have to leave. He heard segments of Vergo’s voice, though it was muffled and quiet, and sounded less like the Vergo he knew. The noise promptly stopped when the transponder snail clicked and went dormant. Hesitantly, he put the receiver back into place.


	14. Live Long and the Economy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi it's me did you think this fanfiction has started because it HASN'T hahahahahahaha i just wanted you to know that i don't own the show i'm writing about or else i'd make rocinante my girlfriend AN YWAY onto the story That you clicked on with your mouse-thing

Once upon a time Rocinante was going to the grocery stores for some lettuces. he liked the lettuces very much thet were his most favorite he eat them all time. and so he was strolling to the store when he suddenly tripped over a mouse namd tyrannosaurs and flew up into the sky on a banana because the banana was also in the sky. and then he were up in the sky and doffy was there suddenly with so warnng whatsoever because he have the power string and can fli in.

rocinante thought this was questicing so he was like “ho put this doffy in the sky and to die??” he said loking kinda sad and stuff cause he knew that doffy was probably gonna fuck a couch. and then the doffee stoped crieng and then he saw robinante and said that i heard that you wer going out wit cradedile and who sad u were aloowed to do that um ecxuse me rusde,

Rocinats wanted to tell him that cracksreidile was his own perdon and that he could maek his own debisions but he knew doffy woulbny listen so he just said “well if ur gong to judge me about my BOYFRIEND theyn i’m gonna judge you for having your dick in a couch”

and then doffy looked down. his dick was in a couch.and when doffy saw that it were thatre he were very surpride and he uuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ greetings. welcome to hell. We’ve been expecting you. doffy is here and he is ready with the tube of posion to inject into your arm thingyWELCOME TO HELL WELCOME TO HELL WELCOME TO HELL and then the lights flickered but no onne kew why but then when they looked arounf they was it weas noferatu.

and rockyneate was like “oh yeah, fuck, i forgot i was actually dead” dead. but then he wasn’t dead vause it ws hell and are people dead????? doffy doesn’t know. i don’t know. Bog Saget was concerned about this. up in the not hell place law was looking all around for rosipante and then he couldent find hime but he was wondering hwere was he dad?/??/??

but law was also really concerned cause there where was his wallet?? was his wallet fgrouen?? the ewas on the ground. the wallet was on the ground. but how could he be sure where was wallet

then who was phone???? ding dong it was the drak haired surgeon (for someRISING)

law was wondering what was for dinner. he remmebered this one time he had dinner and he put the spaghetti into his pockets but NOW THE BREADSTICKS caue they were the FUCKING EVIL and he was the fucking strong so he throwed them out the window like the breadshit they were and only he speghetti. AND THEN DOFFY CAUGHT THE BREDSTACKS AND THEN HE FLEEW UP ALL THE 39 STORIES INTO THE RESTERAUNF ANF THEN HE WAS MAD BECAUSE WHO LEVAE VBREADSTICK IN THE SIDEEWALK IT WERE A WASTE AND HE TRIED TO MAKE LAW EAT THEM BECAUSE HE WERE MAD AND HE SAY:

“EAT IT LAW EAT IT NOW”

and then vergo the punch vergo vergo the punch was there and he did the punchh fo rocikynante and then he left and then law becaume mr dr president of the united stated.

luffy was so pissed cause he wanted to become ninja pirate president but if law was president then how would be he???? so he went and he filed his taxes and he waid “i’m gonna be the for real president BELIEVE IT”

it’s a three hours tour a three hour tour a three hour tour….

one day waen law was do importnt werk in the predident castle doffy came and put his 5 billion mile couch on top the roof and then he sed he were the KING!!!!!!!!!!!!

someone flew in on a broomstick. it was an ugly preppy man with a long black bread and a marines coat that said ‘avril lavigne’; on the back of it.

it was………………………..seNGOKU!!!

and then there was zoro

zoro was just going out to do the fax machine for preisent luffy but he forgot where office max was when he took the wrong turn on the kentucky turnpike so he ended up at a MCR concert where the hap was fuckening. zoro saw a skelemen abut the sketn was moveing and he said” how do dead people move when no live??”

and brook was like u dunno the skeret man and then he laid down and became a whale UPSIDE DOWN AND BACKWARDS AND SUDDENLY LABOON AND THEN LABOON FLEW AWAY INTO THE SKY

rocinante put up a sign in the sky to be aware of the bananas because those can kill people y’know. he turned into a jet

“grandpa why do bananas kill the people??” luffy

“i am grandpoa” said garp

“ye i know the thing grandparp i’;m not stoopid ya know”

“don’t touch other people’s banana” and then garp flew away on his dogsuit

“i have found the ten commondents:” said ass. and then ape read the sondimanrtes and the comsamaents say they N

0OOOO BEEIINGNNNG  

GYEEEYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11!!

name………………

things we don’t talk about” said the crac “specificall t that thing in the right corner” and he pointed to that one daz that’s not actually daz. and then peal did the peal squeal on her peal wheel that crac got for a peal steal ant the local petsmart.

what would you do for a klondike bar?? sanji asked luffy. and luffy was like “gee snasjansid i’m so glad you asked!!” and ten he ate sanji and sanji died. zoro was happy!!!

and then usopp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I co-wrote this with [Livvy](http://lithping.tumblr.com) to make it extra awful.  
> I have no regrets)


	15. Hidden Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crocodile wants to try something different today, but thinks Rocinante is too kind to attempt it.

When Crocodile pitched the idea over lunch, Rocinante’s response was about as expected.

“You...” Rocinante began, looking absolutely appalled. “You want me to _hurt_ you? On _purpose_?”

“What’s with that face? It’s not as though I’m going to be the one torturing you,” Crocodile sneered.

Rocinante looked at Crocodile, worry in his eyes. The fact that he was reluctant to hurt Crocodile might have been endearing, caring, but Crocodile just found it irritating. The man was far too damn soft for his own good--Should he ever have to defend himself, Crocodile would kill him in an instant. Not that it would be difficult had he been able to fight. Rocinante was his own worst enemy, after all.

“I’m...not sure I feel comfortable with that,” Rocinante said.

“Hmph,” Crocodile said. “Perhaps I should have said nothing. I had a feeling you wouldn’t be interested.” He shifted the cigar in his mouth from the left side to the right. “I doubt your acting skills are too impressive anyway. You’d probably cry the second my nose bled.”

“Excuse me?” Crocodile looked at him again. Rocinante was frowning--no, he was _scowling_. “I said I didn’t want to do it,” he said, “not that I _couldn’t_ do it.”

Crocodile snorted. “What’s the difference?” he said.

Rocinante crossed his arms, pouting a little. “Maybe I ought to punch you in the face, then,” he said. “Maybe you do deserve it.”

“Kuahahaha!” Crocodile laughed. “I’d love to see you even try.”

Rocinante seemed visibly bothered by Crocodile’s comments which amused him to no end. He looked away from Crocodile and twisted some of his hair between his fingers, still frowning, but now he appeared deep in thought.

“I think you underestimate me, Crocodile,” Rocinante said.

“You haven’t given me a reason to think otherwise,” Crocodile said flatly. “In these few years you’ve done nothing but trip over yourself, catch fire, and keep the couch warm.” He eyed Rocinante with a sneer. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re unable to hold yourself in any form of combat.”

“Maybe you’ve forgotten this,” Rocinante began, “but I was at one point a trained marine commander. I wasn’t given that title on a whim.” His eyes narrowed. “You want to try out a little role playing? Fine. Name your time and place.”

Crocodile’s grin widened and he laughed. “Kuahahaha...You’re ridiculously easy to agitate,” he said. “Just like your brother.” At the mention of Doflamingo, Rocinante’s scowl deepened. “I’ll be out for the majority of tomorrow, but I should return before dark. Surely that’s enough time for you to figure out something?”

Rocinante simply nodded. “Plenty.”

 

* * *

 

Crocodile returned to his room in the evening before the sun set, just as he had said. It was quiet, nothing unusual or out of place, however Rocinante was noticeably absent. He snorted. The fool was probably off feeling sorry for himself somewhere, unable to face Crocodile after being humiliated.

He went to settle in the armchair in the corner of the room to relax and forget about how many morons he’d dealt with today. Sometimes Crocodile wondered if he was the only competent person around. If he wanted something done right, he always had to do it himself. Relying on other people was a pain.

The door to the room slammed shut. Crocodile stood up again. He looked around the room, searching for any possible intruders. A coat ruffled. Someone snapped their fingers.

“ _Silent_.”

Any and all noise from outside the room disappeared. Now very familiar with the workings of this particular Devil Fruit power, and its owner, Crocodile chuckled.

“...Oh, it’s just _you_ ,” Crocodile said, any dread immediately dispersing. “Here I thought it was an actual threat.”

Crocodile felt Rocinante grab a fistful of his hair. He was shoved up against the wall with a force Crocodile had not expected. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Rocinante. He wasn’t wearing the usual gaudy facepaint and unsightly heart shirt, but instead had the full Marine uniform. Something was different about his expression. Much unlike earlier, he was staring at Crocodile ferociously.

“If you’re going to speak to me,” Rocinante started, “then you will address me as _Commander_ Rocinante.”

He spoke differently, too, and carried himself in a way that Crocodile was unused to. Had Rocinante taken his comments to heart? Whatever the case, this new side of him was intriguing. Though he could easily shake Rocinante off of him, shift to sand, and end this right here and now, he decided to see where Rocinante-- _Commander_ Rocinante would take this. Crocodile laughed at him.

“I’ll address you however I choose, government dog,” he said. “If you want my respect you’ll have to earn it.”

Rocinante’s fist collided with Crocodile’s jaw, and Crocodile recoiled from the impact. But the beating didn’t stop there; over and over again, Rocinante went for his nose, his jaw, his eyes, anywhere he could get to. He had Crocodile boxed in, unable to escape.

After a few minutes, Rocinante drew back, and Crocodile was left panting, sweating, bleeding from his nose and mouth. But, if he weren’t so surprised, he would have been grinning. Crocodile barely had time to react before Rocinante kicked him to the floor and anchored him there, the heel of his boot digging into Crocodile’s back.

“Earn _your_ respect?” Rocinante said. He stepped on Crocodile with a little more force, grinding the boot further between his shoulder blades. “You’re not in the position to be giving those sorts of commands.”

Crocodile turned his head to the side so he could glare up at Rocinante. It had no effect on him whatsoever as far as he could tell. For a moment he could swear he saw a glimmer of Doflamingo’s ruthlessness in Rocinante’s eyes. Where had this side of him come from? Had he always been like this, the darker side of him buried in favor of the parental half of his personality?

“You think I’m unaware of what you’ve been doing here in Alabasta,” Rocinante continued. “I’ve had a close eye on you, all this time...Imagine this careful pyramid you’ve built toppling to the ground. Starting with the keystone.”

In one swift movement, Rocinante grabbed Crocodile by the neck and held him up. Their height difference became more apparent as Rocinante held him at eye level, Crocodile’s feet dangling and hands clawing to free himself. Rocinante...had quite the grip, strong enough to choke him no doubt, but he was clearly restraining himself. Not that he wasn’t already aware that Rocinante was fairly well built.

“You’ve got me pinned. Why not spill a few secrets, _commander_?” Crocodile sneered, though his voice came out rather forced. “What’re you planning for me? Impel Down?”

Rocinante’s expression contained no sign of hesitance, eyes glaring at him in a menacing gaze. “Impel Down? You’re not even worth the trip,” he said, and he dropped Crocodile back to the ground. Crocodile coughed and sputtered, clutching his neck. “I’ll end you right here, right now.”

Just as Crocodile readied himself for the final barrage, Rocinante halted. He put his foot back down on the ground, stepped back, and settled down on the ground. Crocodile lifted his head to see his face. Rocinante was looking down at the blood on the floor, and on Crocodile, in horror.

“...Ah,” he said, putting his hand to his face. “I think that’s enough.”

“What?” Crocodile rasped. He spat out some blood from his mouth. “You’re breaking character already?”

But Rocinante ignored the comment. He crouched down to get a better look at the damage he had caused. Crocodile grunted and wiped some of the blood from his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. Rocinante reached out and, hesitantly, held Crocodile’s face with a careful, gentle touch.

“I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?” Rocinante whispered. “Nothing broken, right? No missing teeth?” Crocodile said nothing, merely groaning when Rocinante touched especially tender spots. His eyes were soft again, as was his voice. “Ah, your nose...I-I’ll go get some tissues, alright?”

Rocinante stepped back and hurried away to find a box of tissues, tripping and stumbling in the process. His marine coat slipped from his shoulders and toppled to the ground in a heap. It was unbelievable that only a few minutes ago this was the same man who seemed prepared to beat Crocodile to death. Crocodile adjusted himself to lean up against the wall, eyeing the door Rocinante had gone through. Then, he pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and cleared some of the blood and spit from his face.

So there was an aggressive side to Rocinante that Crocodile wasn’t aware of. What other secrets was he keeping?


	16. Change of Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doflamingo just wants to stay in bed.

Natural light was what woke him for the first time in a while. Doflamingo had a tendency to sleep fitfully; always tossing and turning, up in the early hours of the morning. Sleeping only made him remember.

He blinked tiredly and turned to his right where Vergo was still sleeping, his body half-covered in blankets, exposing his bare back. He reached out and touched it, lightly massaging the spot between his shoulder blades. Both prone to tossing and turning, they had moved away from each other in their sleep again. Doflamingo hated when they did that.

It wasn’t often that he got to be with Vergo, he’d almost forgotten how much he appreciated...no, how much he _adored_ his company. Now, of course, there were more chances to see him now that he was an admiral and basically had the run of the place, but they were still too few for Doflamingo’s liking. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

In one fluid movement, he reached out and pulled Vergo to his chest. Flush up against him, he could feel Vergo’s body heat more intensely. He smelled of sweat, sea water, starched cotton, and some foreign spice he couldn’t quite place. With each passing breath, his chest rose and fell, the steady repetition slowly lulling Doflamingo back to sleep.

Then Vergo let out a quiet grunt, and he craned his neck to try and look at Doflamingo, which woke him right back up again. He eyed the sleepy Vergo, who was trying to blink himself awake, with a small, fond smile.

“Doffy?” Vergo muttered, still very much half-asleep.

“Don’t get up, I don’t need anything,” Doflamingo replied. He placed a kiss on Vergo’s jaw before resting his head in the crook of Vergo’s neck. “Hmm...Let’s stay in bed today, Vergo.”

“I thought we had plans?” Vergo asked. “Or, did I forget to…?”

“No, you didn’t forget,” Doflamingo said.

He buried his face into Vergo’s back. Vergo reached over to touch Doflamingo’s hair, caressing it. The comfortable silence of the room was punctuated with the usual morning bird calls, muffled by the walls and the sounds of the ocean. Time seemed to stop in that room, as if they were trapped in some little anomaly and the rest of the world ceased to exist. Doflamingo intertwined their hands together and rested them on Vergo’s chest.

“It’s so warm...I want to stay here all day,” Doflamingo said.

“We might worry someone if we don’t come down,” Vergo added.

“We’re not going anywhere. If someone comes looking I’ll just tell them to leave us the fuck alone. We’re _busy_ ,” Doflamingo said, his voice muffled by Vergo’s back. “We can spend time in the city with everyone tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Vergo said. “Tomorrow then.” He hummed. “I was thinking of buying a camera…I saw one in a shop that I liked a lot.”

“Fufufu...You had your eye on that blue one, didn’t you? With the nice strap on it?” Doflamingo added with a chuckle. He squeezed Vergo’s shoulder a little. “You should get it. It suits you.”

“Maybe we could buy one of those transponder snails that prints pictures to go with it,” Vergo replied. “Then I could send you pictures from time to time…”

As Vergo talked, Doflamingo only half listened to him, his voice intermingling in with the white noise in the background. Vergo was always so happy to visit, to be with his...with _their_ family. Doflamingo closed his eyes and breathed a sigh through his nose. Tomorrow, Vergo was leaving again.

Tomorrow, Vergo put on that false face and went back into danger as he had done countless other times. But Vergo was safe here, where he could see and hear him, where he and the family could protect him, and nobody could touch him. He tightened his grip, hoping for some problem, some delay, some reason that would keep Vergo with him, a mess of limbs and blankets, mundane thoughts that made them forget about everything else.

Maybe they could just stay like this forever.


	17. The Missing Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daz is missing his favorite shirt.
> 
> (Set in a modern AU!)

It was only nine o’clock in the morning, and the apartment was already filled with Crocodile’s frustrated yelling.

Having just gotten out of the shower, Daz poked his head out of the bathroom and down the hall. He could hear Crocodile’s angry muttering from the kitchen along with the sound of...splashing? That couldn’t be good. After quickly pulling on a pair of pants, he made his way into the kitchen. There was Crocodile, hook stuck in the jug of orange juice. The juice was dripping out the new hole in the side and into the large orange puddle on the tile floor. The nice dress shirt Crocodile was wearing was soaked with orange juice.

Daz and Crocodile shared a look before Daz said, “I’ll get the paper towels.”

Sharing a space with Crocodile was...interesting, to say the least. The man complained more often than not and was utterly useless when it came to household chores. And things like this...incident tended to happen every so often. But he paid rent on time and took care of his own space decently, so he couldn’t complain too much. Daz, having lived on his own for years, knew how to run the apartment smoothly.

Asking how and why Crocodile felt the need to impale the orange juice was probably not a good idea if the look on his face was anything to go by. Instead he focused on cleaning the rest of the juice off the floor. Crocodile finally pulled the stuck plastic off of his hook and set it down on the counter harshly.

“I need a new shirt,” he muttered as he left the room, sleeves still dripping.

The spill was a relatively easy clean-up, though Daz was a bit annoyed that it had also gotten on the countertop as well. But, luckily, there weren’t any rugs in the kitchen--he’d removed them all after the nice, white carpet would mysteriously gain more and more wine stains--so once the puddle was gone, the kitchen was pristine again. Now he could go about his business.

First things first: fresh clothes.

As he approached the neatly folded basket of laundry he’d done the other night, he noticed something was amiss; his favorite shirt, the one he’d placed on top to use this morning, was missing. A quick glance through the next few articles of clothing told him that it wasn’t in the bin anymore. He frowned and scratched his chin. It was _definitely_ there earlier...wasn’t it?

He checked his room, looking on the bed and in the closet in case, for whatever reason, he moved it. His shirt had vanished. With a sigh, he picked out a different set of clothes from further down in the laundry stack, quickly changed, and placed the basket in his room.

He assumed Crocodile would duck away into the bathroom to shower and was surprised to find it empty. Crocodile was also absent from his room, which meant he was probably lounging in the living room as per his usual morning routine. When Daz went to look for him, he spotted him sitting on the couch.

And there it was.

Crocodile eyed him, arms crossed over the unmistakeable design of Daz’s SUPAH shirt. It wasn’t the first time Daz caught him wearing his clothes; if it was convenient, Crocodile would borrow whatever he felt like using. It didn’t help that Crocodile was lazy with doing his laundry and that they wore the exact same size of clothes.

“What?” Crocodile said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Please return my shirt,” Daz said.

Crocodile leaned back in the chair. “You can have it back at the end of the day,” he said. When Daz crossed his arms and gave him a stern look, he smirked. “Is it really that big of a deal? It’s only a shirt.”

“I’d have prefered if you asked me first.”

When Crocodile turned to give him an annoyed look, Daz held firm. Crocodile already pretty much got away with whatever he wanted, he wasn’t going to let him have all that and his favorite clothes too. The staredown ended when Crocodile rolled his eyes, let out an irritated sigh, and then pulled the shirt over his head. He tossed the now inside out shirt in Daz’s direction.

“ _Fine_. Take it back. I didn’t like it anyway,” Crocodile snapped.

Daz had only wanted an apology, or to at least convey that Crocodile needed to ask permission before swiping his things, but now he just found himself all too aware of his shirtless roommate. Crocodile closed his eyes and relaxed, resting his arms over the back of the couch. Daz quietly cleared his throat and looked away.

“Thank you,” he said. “For returning my shirt.”

Crocodile merely grunted in response, not appearing to care one way or the other, and Daz realized that it was probably a good idea to _stop staring_ and go about his business. 

As he left, he turned the shirt inside out and haphazardly folded it. Crocodile might’ve had a...disagreeable personality, but if anything he certainly was attractive. And he couldn’t help but wonder if that was the _real_ reason he let Crocodile stay around.


	18. No More Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing some flash fiction prompt pieces on my [blog](http://musasuchus.tumblr.com/) and this was one of them!
> 
> "Daz tries to sneak a cat onto the ship but its fur keeps getting all over Crocodile's clothes" from [Myopicbloom](http://myopicbloom.tumblr.com/).

He didn’t see it in the mirror at first. But when he moved, it moved too. Crocodile glared at his shoulder and plucked out the offending ball of fur that had lodged itself there. It was soft and black. He squished it in his fingers and effortlessly disintegrated it. Strange, he thought, as it didn’t seem like his own hair. And there were no animals with fur on the ship.

The door eased open just a bit. Crocodile turned toward it in time to see a cat standing there. It sniffed the room curiously before eyeing him with large green eyes. Then, it came toward him, long tail wiggling as it did. Crocodile stepped out of the way to try and avoid it.

“No,” he said. The cat mewed quietly and followed him. “You stay the hell away from me–these are _white pants_ –!”

The cat weaved through his legs, letting its snakelike tail wrap around his leg. He pushed it out of the way with his shoe. The cat ran off and leapt onto the bed. It stretched out and shook its fur, not at all deterred by Crocodile. It took two slow steps toward the definitely cat hair-free coat laying. Crocodile narrowed its eyes at it.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” he said.

It looked up, blinked at him, and then happily plopped down on the coat without a care in the world. Crocodile tugged the coat out from under it. The cat rolled twice before settling on the bed again. Crocodile glared at it. It simply blinked again and laid down. 

He pulled on the coat and looked at himself. But something was…off. He reached into the coat, feeling for anything weird. When he pulled out a much, much larger wad of cat hair, his eyes widened.

That cat had to go. _Now_.

He lifted the cat by the scruff of its neck and carried it away down the hall. He barged right into Daz’s room. Crocodile dropped the cat on the table wordlessly. Daz looked at the cat and then up at him.

“No more cats,” Crocodile said gruffly.


	19. Under the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante gets Law a hotel room, but it turns out they don't even need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So [firefisterace](http://firefisterace.tumblr.com/) drew this [cute piece of art](http://firefisterace.tumblr.com/post/150253649927/here-briefly-to-post-this-this-was-my-art-for) for reverse bang but didn't get any fic to go with it. I took it upon myself to write them something super quick and this is the result.

To conserve money, they usually avoided hotels. But on a particularly bad night, Rocinante decided to splurge. Several weeks without any luck with the doctors had left Law looking rather miserable and lifeless. Sleeping on the ground with nothing but a blanket didn’t help matters much. A soft bed was the least that Rocinante could do for him at this point.

So as to avoid filling the hotel with smoke, Rocinante went out onto the roof to light a cigarette and relax while Law slept. He’d intended to be quiet about it, but of course he just had to slip on a small puddle of water and land harshly on his back. He picked himself up and went to the edge of the building to sit.

He stuck a cigarette between his teeth and flicked the lighter until it lit. He inhaled and then exhaled softly.

He’d been so optimistic about curing Law’s illness. But with each doctor proving to be no more than a terrified, uneducated quack he wondered about the reality of the situation. Time was running out, and they needed a solution. But, most importantly, he wanted Law to not spend so much time thinking about what he deemed was an inevitability.

“If you hold the lighter that close, you’re gonna catch on fire.”

Rocinante turned back to see Law, hands on his hips, looking disapprovingly at him.

“You should be resting,” Rocinante said.

“You made enough noise to wake up the whole hotel,” Law replied.

Feeling a bit self conscious, Rocinante cleared his throat and looked away. Law walked up to him and sat down. He pulled his knees up to his chest and looked down at the street below them. 

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyhow.”

Rocinante lowered his cigarette. “Do you want me to put up a barrier for you?” He asked. “You might sleep better.”

Law shook his head. Rocinante studied Law’s face as he looked into the distance. The sickly white blotches were creeping across his face little by little. The illness hadn’t set in yet, and Rocinante could only wonder how much time they had left.

“It’s kinda nice, just sitting here,” Law said. 

“Mm.”

With each passing moment, the setting sun was taking more of the light with it. The air was crisp and cold. Rocinante exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air away from Law. The breeze dispersed it quickly. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Law shiver a little. He was about to suggest that they return to the warmth of the hotel room when Law gently tugged the edge of Rocinante’s feather coat around him for warmth. He was determinedly looking away from him, probably embarrassed. Rocinante decided to pretend not to notice.

“Hey, Law?” Rocinante asked. “Do you like dawn better or dusk?”

Law looked up at him, perplexed.

“Does it even matter?” He replied.

"Humor me.”

Law shifted and put his legs over the side of the building. He looked out at the sunset thoughtfully.

“I guess sunsets are nice,” he said. “I never used to appreciate them much before now.” His voice became quiet. “...I don’t know how many more I’m gonna get to see.”

Rocinante flinched. Oh no, had that been the wrong thing to say? Law was looking down again. He mentally kicked himself.

“You’re going to see _plenty_ more,” Rocinante assured him.

Law huffed.

“I told you, didn’t I? Thirteen years. That’s all I had and there’s nothing we can do about it,” he said. 

He grasped the feathery coat in his tiny hands. Rocinante struggled to find something to say to him that wouldn’t sound like just another pity statement.

“I always liked dawn myself,” Rocinante said. “They’re sort of hopeful, you know? The start of a brand new day...anything could happen.”

The sun disappeared below the horizon, and the darkness slowly creeped in. Law yawned and inched closer to Rocinante, appearing tired now. Rocinante felt him rest up against him.

“It’s just the same thing except backwards,” Law mumbled.

“But if it’s backwards, is it really the same thing?”

Law laughed. It was faint, but it was still a laugh. 

“You’re weird, Corazon,” Law said, closing his eyes. 

Moments later, Law went silent. Rocinante looked down at him and saw that he’d fallen asleep. He draped the feather coat around him carefully and rested his arm over him. Rocinante looked up at the sky, which was slowly being populated by stars as it darkened, and he chuckled.

They’d finally gone and gotten a hotel room and they were still sleeping under the open sky.


	20. This Was A Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocinante and Crocodile go ice skating. Based off of [this](http://myopicbloom.tumblr.com/post/151084724179/crocodile-goes-ice-skating-with-the-donquixote)!

Crocodile wasn’t sure what was more ridiculous; the fact that he’d been talked into ice skating, or the fact that he actually showed up with Rocinante. However, once they arrived, he had half a mind to take off.

Rocinante had led him to a damned pond in the middle of a park–a  _ pond _ . The very idea of screwing around on some probably too-thin ice over any body of water was uncomfortable. He glared a little at Rocinante, who was putting on his skates with a carefree expression--or perhaps smug, if he’d planned all this from the beginning.

“I hate it when you lie to me.”

Rocinante looked up from tying his laces. “What are you talking about?” He asked.

“You told me we were going to an ice rink,” Crocodile said, narrowing his eyes at the pond.

“It  _ is _ an ice rink,” Rocinante said. “The natural ice has been thickened and smoothed down. It’s perfectly safe.”

Crocodile scrutinized the ice. A few children skated by the heavily used entryway to the pond, laughing and grabbing a hold of each other. The ice seemed to hold their weight enough, but they were just children. Was that ice really strong enough to hold two full grown, very tall men?

Rocinante walked by him, legs wobbling as they got used to balancing on the blades. He patted Crocodile’s shoulder and stepped onto the ice. His legs bent in and out and slid forward on the slippery ice. But it held. Rocinante grinned. He tapped it several times with the back of his skates. The ice didn’t crack.

“Seems sturdy,” Rocinante said. “Are you coming, or what?”

It took a moment of awkwardly floundering around, hands waving and body threatening to topple over, before Rocinante managed to propel himself across the ie smoothly. He tucked his hands behind his back with a smile. Crocodile was watching him with an annoyed gaze. Damn showoff.

He spotted the second set of ice skates resting up against the park bench; they were for him probably. After taking a seat, he looked one over. Yes, they were definitely his size. Fairly well made...for rentals. He removed the protective cover from one of the blades. They seemed sharp enough to cut holes in the ice. He snuck a glance to see if Rocinante was watching him. He was distracted by the children, who were swerving around him. 

This was stupid, he thought as he swapped out his nice shoes for the skates. Childish, pointless, and dangerous to be fooling around just above a body of ice water. When he got to the laces, he frowned. Right. Laces. How in hell was he supposed to tie the damn things when he only had one hand?

“Do you need help?”

Rocinante was hovering over him. Crocodile was a bit miffed at having been caught, but he resigned to having Rocinante tie his laces tight. It wasn’t like they were going to tie themselves, after all. Once they were good and tied, Crocodile attempted to stand up. It was just as awkward and unnatural as it had looked.

“Whose terrible idea was it to combine knives and shoes?” Crocodile snapped as he swayed on his feet. The blades managed to dig into the hard snow at his feet, but walking was a challenge. “This is stupid. I’m taking these things off right now.”

“Ahaha–Come here, I’ll help you.”

Rocinante took him by the hand, making him stumble forward. His first step onto the ice was a slip. He had to grab a hold of Rocinante to keep from falling forward. But, once he stabilized himself and stopped staring down at the ice, he realized that he was standing on it just fine. He blinked. Well. This wasn’t as miserable as it could be. He adjusted his feet slightly. He still looked like an idiot, however.

“So, um,” Rocinante spoke up. “Do you want to skate around?”

“I don’t even know how to  _ walk _ in these damn things.” Crocodile hissed. He waved his arms as he tried to keep balancing.

“Here, hold onto my hand,” Rocinante said. 

Crocodile reluctantly took Rocinante by the hand. The children from before were now sitting on the bench on the other side of the pond, kicking their legs happily while they watched them with anticipation. Crocodile narrowed his eyes.

“They’re staring,” Crocodile said.

“They’re just children,” Rocinante said. “Don’t pay them any mind.”

He maneuvered around Crocodile with ease. Then, after looking Crocodile over, he said, “Bend your knees a little bit--yeah, just like that. And then bow your feet slightly inward--just a little not too much.”

As Crocodile followed each step, he felt a little more ridiculous. And he probably looked as foolish as he felt. But on the bright side, he wasn’t flailing around anymore. The position allowed him to keep his balance fairly well.

“Alright, good,” Rocinante said. He then pulled Crocodile forward slightly. “Now you just...push off with one skate--”

They slid forward. Crocodile managed to hold his balance. He blinked. That...hadn’t been awful. He slowly released his hold on Rocinante’s arm and tried it again. The skate slid along the ice gracefully. As if it had always meant to. He grinned a bit. Oh, this was so simple. No wonder even children could do it. He pushed off again, and again, making sure to balance with the opposite leg.

Yes…. _ yes _ …

He hit a patch of uneven ice toward the center of the rink and tripped up, arms flailing and legs bowing in and out as he tried to step on the ice. Rocinante, who had been right behind him, grabbed a hold of his coat and saved him from the inevitable face-first impact with the ice. Crocodile scrambled around to regain a solid foothold and held onto him for dear life.

“This was a mistake,” Crocodile muttered.

“That was great, though,” Rocinante said. 

“No, I’m done with this ice water death trap,” Crocodile said. “Get me back to land right  _ now _ .”

Rocinante shrugged, but complied. They gently skated back around to the bench and walked out onto the snow. Somehow, walking was a little easier now. Crocodile sat back down on the bench with the full intention of never leaving it again. Rocinante settled down next to him and crossed his legs. With the adults gone, the children raced back out onto the ice.

As Crocodile hastily took off his ice skates and dumped them in a pile, Rocinante held out his right hand. He turned it over a couple of times. Then he looked around their feet, behind the bench, and then out on the ice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Crocodile asked.

“I’m missing a mitten,” Rocinante said. “Do you see it anywhere?”

Crocodile looked at his barren hand before he looked around at their feet. Upon seeing nothing, he simply shrugged and went back to awkwardly undoing the laces one-handedly. 

But then something on his hook caught his eye. He paused. The white mitten was impaled upon it. He wordlessly slipped it off and turned it over. He must’ve caught it when they were….he looked at Rocinante, who was looking away from him, and then gently tossed the mitten onto the bench.


	21. Tolerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crocodile enjoys coming home to the quiet Donquixote brother.

Being back in Alabasta was a small blessing. The dry heat was much more comfortable than Mariejois’ humid climate. Upon arrival Crocodile was greeted by several of his underlings, but he paid them no mind. He was ready to not deal with anyone for a while.

He threw open the door to his private study and the noise echoed throughout the room. He loosened his cravat and undid a couple of his shirt buttons. His hair was ruffled and windswept from the high seas, but he was too tired to do anything about it.

At that moment the only thing he wanted to do was throttle every single Pirate Warlord. Doflamingo had sat on the table again, and Moria’s voice grated on his ears every single time he opened his mouth to spew out whatever mundane comment on his mind he decided was worth sharing. Hancock hadn’t even bothered to show up. Mihawk didn’t say anything the entire time, however. Perhaps that would have been a blessing if he hadn’t been staring so much.

He spotted Rocinante toward the back of the room, stretched out on the couch with today’s paper in his hands. Crocodile wordlessly approached him. Rocinante gave him a nod of acknowledgement and a small smile.

Crocodile untied his cravat and tossed it aside on the end table. Rocinante seemed ready to relinquish the couch, but Crocodile instead simply draped himself over him. His boney legs weren’t the most comfortable to lay on top of, but it’d do. Crocodile was too tired to give a shit. He rested his head on Rocinante’s chest and let out a long sigh.

“Rough day?” Rocinante asked, setting his newspaper down on the floor.

“The government has a talent for recruiting the most irritating of pirates,” Crocodile muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Rocinante chuckled. “Did Doffy do something again?”

Crocodile lifted his head up to give Rocinante a tired look before he rested back down on his chest. Rocinante reached out to stroke his hair. He had a strict no touching rule once he styled his hair, but he’d let it pass for now. He let his hook drape over the side of the couch and rest on the carpet.

Everything went quiet, save for the steady sound of Rocinante’s breathing and the gentle strokes of his long fingers.

“A day doesn’t pass without him being a damned nuisance,” Crocodile said. “That stupid featherduster thinks he’s entitled to everything he touches.”

Much to his dismay, Doflamingo seemed to have some kind of fixation on him. He always made a beeline for Crocodile the moment he saw him in the crowd. This time had been no different; He’d taken it upon himself to sit in Crocodile’s usual seat to “warm it up”. Not to mention his constant need to be praised…

Rocinante leaned down and planted a kiss in his hair. Crocodile opened his eyes. When he glanced up at Rocinante again, Rocinante cupped Crocodile’s cheek.

“Forget about him. He’s not worth it,” he said. “None of them are.”

Crocodile grunted in agreement. It would still be endlessly satisfying to knock Doflamingo down from his damned high horse, if given the chance. The day that Doflamingo slipped up, he’d be waiting. But for now, he was home, and he wanted to relax. As Rocinante’s fingers trailed down to stroke his back, he snuck a hand up the back of Rocinante’s shirt.

“ _Yee_!”

Crocodile gave Rocinante an alarmed look. Rocinante seemed shocked.

“Your hand is very cold,” he said.

Crocodile stared at him for a long moment. Then he snorted.

“…Ku…haha….Kuhahaha!” Crocodile laughed. “What the _hell_ was that noise?”

He rolled over onto his back, still laughing heartily. Rocinante laughed along with him, albeit it was much quieter by comparison. He gently wrapped his arms around Crocodile, who placed his good hand over one of them.

At least one of the Donquixote brothers was tolerable.


	22. The Day Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his birthday. Rocinante takes the day off, but he has no idea what to do.

_It’s your birthday, you ought to take the day off._

...That was what Sengoku had said. And Rocinante couldn’t just disobey him--even if it wasn’t exactly an order. The problem was...well, what exactly was he going to even do with that time? He never was much for big parties, and few others knew his birth date.

Initially his plan was to just simply roam Marineford on his own and enjoy the time to himself. Maybe read a book, smoke, treat himself a little, or something. He went for a walk, and  a few other marines had given him quick mentions of the date which he’d returned with quiet thank you’s. He read that book he’d been meaning to finish. He got himself a fancy salad and a dessert from the cafeteria.

In all it took...less than a couple hours at most.

Hm.

This was how he found himself...back in his office, hands resting on his desk, bored out of his mind. It suddenly dawned on him just how much time he devoted to the Marines. He...really didn’t have any hobbies, did he?

“...Mm…”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Visit a friend? He didn’t have a lot of friends. And Sengoku wouldn’t be able to spend time with him until later in the day. A long-distance phone call, perhaps?

Well. There was one person he wouldn’t be against calling...no, no, no. That was completely out of the question. He wasn’t even going to entertain...

...A green transponder snail in the corner eyed him with a familiar sneer. He puffed his cheeks up and glared at it a bit. Unlike some of his little heart snails, this one didn’t look a whole lot like Crocodile...or, at least, it hadn’t initially...but ever since Crocodile had started using it as a line to him, it seemed to have taken on some of his qualities. Mostly it just stared at him uncomfortably from across the room. He was almost tempted to make it a little vest.

Oh, god. That’d be silly looking. A slimy, sneering little Crocodile lookalike...

He drummed his fingers some more. Checked the clock. Barely a minute had passed. This was going to be a very, very slow day, wasn’t it? He’s almost tempted to just take a nap, sleep the day away until he can spend it with Sengoku. But then he’d never sleep at night...what a shame.

The snail was still staring at him. Like it was waiting for him to make a move. Damn that little thing...it seemed to be taunting him.

No, calling Crocodile was a terrible idea. An absolutely terrible idea. Keeping him so close at hand was also a terrible idea. Yet, the worst part of all was that he wanted to, and that hearing his voice was…admittedly something he wanted to hear. But still a bad idea.

…

And it was also his birthday, and he was entitled to do whatever he wanted. Within reason. This was in reason, right? So long as Sengoku didn’t know...

He set the snail down on the desk and lifted the receiver. In seconds, the number was dialling. He felt his heart race a bit--nervousness, yes, just a little. Crocodile was a dangerous pirate, after all. Not one to be taken lightly. That was all.

It didn’t take long until he heard that familiar voice on the other end.

“ _Is this about the next meeting? Have you changed the location?_ ”

No greeting, no polite banter. Just the way he was. That was fine, though.

“The location remains the same,” Rocinante replied. “I’m not calling about that.”

“ _Then what are you calling about?_ ”

He paused, mouth open. He--hmm. There wasn’t really a reason for the call, was there. He contemplates what to say next carefully before continuing.

“There was something I wanted to know,” he said. “How do you usually spend your free time?”

Silence.

“... _What?_ ”

“You know, when you’re not--”

“ _I know full well what you meant, commander. Why the hell do you want to know about my personal business?_ ”

He twisted one of the tassels on his hat and then let out a snort before he said, “This is going to sound a bit strange...but I finally have the day off and I don’t have a clue in hell how to spend it. I’ve already finished everything I wanted to do. It’s a little bit quiet here...so I thought I’d ask someone else’s opinion.”

The other end stayed quiet. The snail in front of him scrunched up its eyebrows in a mimic of what Crocodile’s face must have looked like at that moment. He wouldn’t call it cute but...okay, it was a little cute. So sue him. When it seems that Crocodile isn’t going to respond, he lets out a self-deprecating laugh and leans on the desk.

“...Sorry, I--”

“ _I don’t have a lot of spare time. But when I do get it, I spend it productively_.”

…Huh. He hadn’t been expecting a reply at all. Usually Crocodile didn’t like to say much about himself. The answer makes him brighten up--more than he should, if he’s honest with himself--and he leaned over the desk further with a smile, eyes trained on the snail. Is this a breakthrough with him? Perhaps.

“But if you  _did_ , what would you do?” he asked.

He heard Crocodile hum in the background. Something tapped against the desk--his hook, maybe?

“ _I suppose it would depend on the day and location…_ ” he admitted. “ _The weather here is disgusting. I’ve had enough of rainstorms to last a lifetime. I want to spend one day--one damn day this week in sunny weather._ ”

That earned Crocodile a laugh. Rocinante couldn’t help imagining him locked up in the captain’s quarters, glaring out of a porthole as rain drizzled down upon his ship. By contrast, the weather in Marineford had been very nice lately. Perhaps if Crocodile came around soon, he would be able to enjoy it too. They could go for a walk together and complain about their troubles. And that was a thought he definitely did not just have.

“Perhaps I should take advantage of the sunny weather in your stead…” he muttered to himself. “I could enjoy a snack outside--though...well, I already treated myself to dessert...I don’t normally do that, but the cafeteria staff seemed adamant that I spoil myself at least a little today…”

“ _What? Is it some marine holiday?_ ”

Rocinante hummed. “No, no, nothing special like that,” he said. He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air. “It’s my birthday.”

More silence.

“... _I see._ ”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” Rocinante said. “I don’t even know how to spend my own birthday. I’m that much of a workaholic.”

“ _You don’t have family?_ ”

Rocinante went silent. Ah. Right. His dead parents and estranged, demonic older brother Doflamingo. It wasn’t like he could simply spend time with them. Or that they’d be too keen on seeing him, in Doflamingo’s case. And it wasn’t like he was dating anyone, or married, either. He twisted a stray piece of hair between his fingers.

“There are a lot of us here without anyone,” was all he chose to say. “I’d have spent it with Sengoku, but of course he has his hands full. So, I’ve been left up to my own devices. And...ha, I guess I need more hobbies...”

He casts a glance at the snail. It seems...neutral. Pensive, maybe. Is he boring Crocodile?

“...Ah, sorry, I suppose I’m rambling now. I’m sure you have business of your own to attend to.”

“ _Indeed._ ”

“I’ll let you see to it, then.”

Though hesitant, Rocinante lifted the receiver and slowly lowered it back down toward the--

“-- _Commander._ ”

He paused.

“ _Why is it that in your spare time you see fit to call me, of all people?_ ” Crocodile asked--and Rocinante could just feel the amusement in his voice. “ _The entire day to spend among friends or to your own pastimes...and you find yourself calling this number instead. It’s strange, wouldn’t you say?_ ”

It is. And Rocinante doesn’t quite understand the reasoning behind it himself.

He absentmindedly gnawed a bit on his lip as he considered what to say next. Does Crocodile think he’s being desperate, or that he’s pathetic for having to resort to such drastic measures for company? He eyes the snail again, but there’s so little that it conveys. It seemed that Crocodile, though clearly amused, was just as confused as he was about this.

He doesn’t know what to think about that.

“I thought another opinion would be valuable,” he said. “That’s all.”

Yes. That’s all. He wasn’t ready to think about the fact that he liked Crocodile’s voice. Or what that might imply.

“ _Very well then. Good day to you, commander._ ”

The line went quiet. The snail became dormant. Rocinante replaced the receiver on its back. His eyes darted back toward the clock on the wall--well, that killed a little bit of time. Not much, but a little bit. He pushed back his chair and got up from the desk. Alright. He was going to spend some more time outside, then. Enjoy the warm sunshine before he went out for the evening with Sengoku.

No, he definitely was not smiling because of that conversation. It was simply a nice, sunny day.


	23. Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Transponder snails seem to have minds of their own.
> 
> (This is an older drabble, but apparently I forgot to post it. Whoops.)

The transponder snail was staring at him again.

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed at the tiny heart-speckled snail as it slithered across his desk and blinked at him wordlessly. Grabbing the transponder had been a spur of the moment happening, if he was honest; he’d later told himself that it was to spy on Marine business and secret messages.

But he hadn’t really done anything with it. It just...sat there and stared at him expectantly. Like it was eager for him to make a call. He huffed. Like he was bored enough to call a marine commander...

He shuffled around the room slowly, examining his small assortment of personal things; bits of treasure, some replacement prosthetics, several fresh boxes of cigars piled neatly on one another. The area was spotless. He frowned. He just wasn’t tired. At all. It was too late in the day to do anything more. And his crew had gone quiet; most sleeping in their quarters while a few took up the nightly watch.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught the snail inching toward the corner of his desk. It was still staring at him, a toothy grin on its face. He rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” he commanded, though the tiny creature continued slithering to the edge and down the side of the desk. “Stop that you filthy slug, you’re dirtying the exterior--!”

He plucked the snail off by the shell and held it to eye level. The receiver came loose from the shell and dangled. Crocodile tensed as he heard noise come from it. The snail was still grinning.

“You have a death wish,” he murmured.

He picked up the receiver to replace it. But just as he did, the other end picked up.

“... _Hello?_ ” came the familiar voice of Base Commander Rocinante through the snail’s mouth.

Well damn.

“...Commander,” Crocodile greeted.

A soft laugh came from the other end.

“ _Crocodile_ ,” Rocinante replied. “ _It certainly isn’t every day that you call_.”

“Your damn transponder has a mind of its own,” Crocodile said, eyeing up the smug little snail.

“ _That one always had a bit of a quirky personality_ ,” Rocinante mused. Then he added, with what seemed like a bit of reluctance, “ _If you ever get tired of it, you can always return it. You did steal it from my office, after all_.”

Crocodile’s face scrunched up. As if he’d admit defeat so easily. Rocinante didn’t comment further, instead going quiet. Crocodile took a seat at his desk and listened carefully to the other end, waiting patiently, telling himself in another moment he’d put the line down and go about his damn business. He could have sworn he heard...crunching? Crocodile caught the sound of utensils being moved.

After a minute’s pause, Rocinante spoke up again.

“ _Ah, I’m sorry_ ,” he said. “ _You called during dinner_.”

“I see.”

“ _You’re lucky I eat in my office_ ,” Rocinante said. “ _If I’d gone down to the mess hall, I would have never heard the transponder going off_.” More crunching. “ _The recruits have their charms, but they’re extremely loud when it comes to eating_...”

Crocodile didn’t say anything, instead content to listen to the nonsense Rocinante was saying for a few minutes. For information gathering purposes, he told himself. There was nothing of particular value, however. Merely more details about Rocinante’s bothersome trainees. And yet...there was almost something pleasant about the monotony of it all. Crocodile hummed quietly.

“... _It must be pretty uneventful if you’re calling me, of all people_ ,” Rocinante said between bites of what was probably salad. “ _Are you having a slow day?_ ”

“Admittedly it’s a fairly dull hour…” Crocodile said. “My crew has settled down for the night and there is little else for me to do.”

“... _What time is it?_ ” Rocinante asked.

“There aren’t clocks in Marineford?” Crocodile said gruffly.

“ _No, no. I meant where you are_ ,” Rocinante said, ignoring Crocodile’s tone. “ _I forget the time difference...It’s quite late there, isn’t it?_ ”

Crocodile glanced at his clock on the wall and noted the time. If memory served him, Marineford was roughly five hours behind him.

“Indeed,” he replied. “It’s a quarter to eleven.”

“ _Mmm, you’ve sailed pretty far from Marineford, then_ ,” Rocinante said softly.

Crocodile’s eyebrows furrowed. His voice...his tone sounded almost...disappointed by that fact. Surely, the commander wouldn’t be...upset to hear that one of their filthy hired pirate warlords was so far away, would he? Crocodile felt a familiar flutter in his chest and he shook himself out of it.

“You cannot expect me to waste all of my time in Marine territory, can you?” Crocodile sneered. “I’ve got more important things to do then spend my precious time with you people.”

Rocinante laughed that quiet, airy laugh that bothered Crocodile in ways he couldn’t quite put into words.

“ _No, certainly not_ ,” he said. “ _Although… You certainly have the time to waste talking to me late at night?_ ”

Crocodile tensed a bit. He didn’t like the way Rocinante implied that he would...go out of his way to talk to him. No, certainly not. This had all been some accident and he was simply--there was no good way to talk himself out of this, was there. He scowled at the cheerful snail in his hand.

“No,” Crocodile said. “I haven’t the time to waste with pointless calls like this.”

Rocinante clicked his tongue. “... _Is that so_ ,” he said. “ _Then I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, Crocodile. Pleasant dreams_.”

Crocodile opened his mouth to say something else, but the line went dead and the snail went dormant. He groaned a bit and put the receiver back into place. He’d gotten what he wanted, but why did he feel...dissatisfied with the conversation? And why had Rocinante sounded almost sour when Crocodile told him off?

There was also the matter that now he was bored once again with no one to keep him company but a very sneaky little snail.

“...Don’t you go getting any more bright ideas, you worthless mollusk,” Crocodile growled.


	24. It's Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just have to aimlessly cuddle.

It’s dark. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it became gradually more light. The moonlight trickling in through the blinds also played its part in illuminating the room.

Crocodile’s partner, already fast asleep at his side, inhaled and exhaled slowly. The weather was abnormally warm, which had Rocinante stripped down to just his underwear. His heavily scarred upper body was exposed, only barely hidden by the thin sheets and throw blanket he slept under. He slept in a rather strange position–on his front, face turned to the side, with one hand under the pillow. From all angles he appeared to be in a state of absolute peace.

For some reason, Crocodile wasn’t so lucky. No, he was stuck wide awake with nothing but his thoughts for company. If he got up now, Rocinante would surely notice. The man was a damn light sleeper.

He tucked another couple of pillows underneath his head with a quiet huff. Rocinante didn’t react. Crocodile’s eyes lingered on him for a moment. Rocinante when asleep was little different than seeing him awake, what with him being so ridiculously quiet. His hand brushed Rocinante’s bangs aside.

…It’s stupid, he thought silently. Stupid how this was supposed to be a one-time thing he did on a whim, and yet he couldn’t stop.

“…Mmm…”

The train of thought was broken by Rocinante stirring. His eyes fluttered open, squinting at him in the darkness. Crocodile said nothing. Rocinante gave him a small smile that was just barely visible in the darkness of the room.

“You’re still awake?” he mumbled as he pulled into wakefulness.

“By no will of my own, yes,” came Crocodile’s response.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Another hum from Rocinante. He picked himself up on his hands and scooted closer to lay his head down on Crocodile’s shoulder. Now, by all means he should have pushed him off. Set boundaries, made him stay on his side of the bed. But there was something…comforting, about Rocinante’s soft, fleshy cheek resting there. He was quite warm. Rocinante’s arm found its way around his midsection and rested there carefully, as if he knew Crocodile might in fact push him away.

He hated to admit that he had no such plans.

“If you’re going to stay up, I’ll stay up too,” Rocinante spoke up.

“Says the man who was sleeping like the dead moments ago.”

Rocinante chuckled.

“I can stay up, I promise.” He makes a lazy X over his heart. “Cross my heart. It’s awfully lonely to just sit there by yourself, after all.”

Crocodile hummed, but gave no other response. Rocinante shifted a bit where he was lying and looked up at him curiously. Though he had no plans to shove Rocinante away, he couldn’t help but dwell on the ridiculousness of the situation. This kind of closeness did not happen with him, mostly because he openly hated people but also because this type of instance required lowering one’s guard .

Yet, the warmth, the closeness of their bodies…it was all too comfortable. And Rocinante’s hair was all too soft.

He paused. When had he started petting it again? Not that Rocinante seemed to mind, if his smile and half-lidded eyes were anything to go on. Crocodile stopped for a moment, eyeing the other up just in case he decided to say something…but he never did. Thus, he resumed. His hair was ridiculously silky–was that due to his lineage, or did he simply take good care of it?

Within ten minutes, Rocinante’s breathing fell into a steady rhythm and he sagged against Crocodile’s shoulder. His eyes fell upon his sleeping figure with a snort. His stumpy left arm found its way around Rocinante’s back to support him from behind. With a short sigh, he rested his head up against Rocinante’s and closed his eyes.

So much for staying up.


	25. Peeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'll bet you thought I forgot to be a dingus today but no, here we are,

Ah, what a gorgeous Easter. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, Dellinger was tossing eggs at the villagers with reckless abandon. Doflamingo chuckled. Ah, everything was at peace.

He pulled a fresh package of Peeps from his black garbage bag filled to the brim with the bright pink marshmallow birds that he raided from a nearby grocery store. After opening it with care, he pulled a beautiful bird from the package and popped it into his mouth. Then two. Then ten. The citizens of Dressrosa around him looked on in horror as he finished three full packages without even flinching.

“Fufufu,” he said as he tossed the empty packages aside on the road while he walked off. “Happy Easter to me.”

Two hands shot up from the ground at his feet, making him leap back in shock. Then long arms emerged and dragged out a very dirtied body, but it was clear as day from the dopey red hat and the heart shirt who it was.

“What the hell?!” Doflamingo yelled. “You’ve been dead for like ten years!”

“SurPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER!” Rocinante pulled out a bazooka from the hole he unearthed himself from. “Jesus isn’t the only one rising from the dead today!”

And then Doflamingo was blasted into the sky, exploding along with his Peeps in a giant mass of marshmallowy pinkness.


End file.
